


This Belongs to Us

by Anefi



Series: Anefi's Transformers Works [6]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Background Canon-Typical Atrocities, Gen, Humor, Other, The Enigma of Combination, mild robogore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:08:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27002521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anefi/pseuds/Anefi
Summary: A collection of Scavs shorts!Chapter 1: Flat Earther SpinisterChapter 2: Return to B’lahr 39Chapter 3: The Scavengers trip over the Enigma of Combination
Relationships: Fulcrum/Misfire (Transformers)
Series: Anefi's Transformers Works [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1918825
Comments: 11
Kudos: 24





	1. A Matter of Perception

“Misfire. _Tell_ me you’re joking,” Fulcrum said.

“Can you not,” Crankcase started, but it was _much_ too late.

Misfire had this grin, sometimes—a _lot_ of the time, even when he wasn’t on speeders. It was wide, and devious, and just about split his face in half. Smart mechs, when they saw it, got the itching feeling they should duck their heads and find sturdy cover. On good days, Fulcrum considered himself reasonably intelligent, but sometime between Clemency and Constancy, he’d come to realize that in some situations, caution was overrated.

Misfire leaned in close. “You’re gonna love this,” he promised. The last time he’d said that, he’d handed Fulcrum a truly disgusting mix of engex, methane ice, and artificial coolant, but he was only usually wrong. On this occasion, he grabbed Fulcrum by the arm, smearing not-quite-rancid innermost energon on Fulcrum’s armor, and gleefully dragged him toward where Spinister was working through another pile of corpses. “Hey, Spin,” Misfire yelled, and then added, “Spinister,” because sometimes Spinister didn’t get nicknames, or ignored them.

Spinister had half a minibot’s chassis hanging absently from his fist. “What,” he said.

Misfire stuck out a sticky thumb toward Fulcrum. “ _Fulcrum_ here thinks this planet is _round_ ,” he said, in a way that made Fulcrum want to argue with him, even though he _did_.

Spinister spared both of them a brief, squinting glance. He turned his head and looked out over the rusting battlefield. “Looks flat to me,” he said, and went back to delicately prying out a laser core. 

Fulcrum stared at him. He looked up at the horizon—the _clearly visible horizon_. He stared at Misfire.

Misfire splayed out his hands and grinned. _Tada!_

“We saw this rock from space before we landed,” Fulcrum said. “We saw it out the viewport. We were in _orbit_.”

“Well, it’s flat down here,” Spinister said.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Fulcrum said. “Spinister. If you started flying, or we launched the W.A.P, and kept flying in a straight line, do you think you would come back to this spot after we went all the way around? Or would you, I don’t know, fall off some kind of edge?”

“You can’t fall off anything when you’re flying.”

“He’s got you there,” Misfire chimed in.

Spinister held up the flawlessly extracted laser core and let the rest of the corpse drop to the red-grey dirt. “Which one of you needed one of these?”

When Fulcrum looked back at Misfire he wasn’t sure what kind of expression was on his face, but it made Misfire cackle loud enough that Krok poked his head of the nearby bunker and yelled at them both to get back to work.


	2. Scene of the Crime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt Fulcrum + bittersweet from helloshepard!

Gravel crunched underfoot. Aluminosilicates, soft grey and common as—well, the planet didn’t have dirt anymore. Any of the original organic slime that survived the initial steps toward Cyberforming had been vaporized with the first blast of Autobot ordinance. The atmosphere of B’lahr 39 was still buzzing with enough radioactivity to mess with proximity sensors, and it would be for another few million years.

A long time ago, Fulcrum had stood on this same steaming crust with a Worldsweeper in the sky and dreamed of the life that would bloom under his guiding hand, metal shining new, bright photovoltaic circuits unfurling to the newest star in the Constellate. An alien blue sun made a new home for their people.

He crouched, picked up a perfectly ordinary pebble, and tucked it away in his subspace. “Okay,” he said, turning back toward the WAP. “We can go.”

“Good. This place sucks slag,” Misfire said.

He stood a little closer than usual during takeoff, though, as Fulcrum watched the planet drop away on the viewscreen. Craters on craters from horizon to horizon, nothing stirring but dust.


	3. What's in a Nigma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Scavengers trip over the Enigma of Combination.

They say that forming a gestalt is like a big conversation, or a six-way spark merge, or losing any sense of yourself completely and surrendering your processor to something greater than you could have ever imagined being.

That’s scrap, though.

It was more like that time they all activated their holoavatars at the same time on Ignip III but forgot to resize them from the stop on Zerglabynarx 7, so they popped into being in the same three mechanometer square space when they were two meters wide, and they were all half inside each other in a big blob with tentacles flopping everywhere mostly blind and it took ten breems of multi-octave screaming before Krok forcibly deactivated all the projections with his officer override.

Actually, it was a little better than that, because this time they had Nickel.

[EVERYBODY SHUT UP], she said, which was impressive enough when she was yelling in your face despite being half your height, let alone when she somehow managed to yell straight into your brain. For a blessed microsecond, it was quiet.

They opened their eyes. So far so good. They were still in the cargo hold of the _Weak Anthropic Principle_ , which hadn’t exploded. The lights were on. The quantum engines were humming. Did they usually hum like that? Did they usually hum? Check, check, check, yes. Yes. Okay, next—There was a weird stain on the ceiling. It looked kind of like that one flavor of Energuice? With the—Poloniberry! Yes!—They reached up to—

The ceiling was much closer than usual.

Their finger was—

MF: [that’s _me_ ]

Or, the whole arm was.

SP: [That’s not what my arm used to look like.]

MF: [yeah, because it’s me! that’s my wing! Look, Crankcase drew a—]

CC: [allegedly.]

FU: [Guys, I think we—]

MF: [Fulcrum has the best chat tag]

SP: [If I am my components and Misfire is my arm, do I contain everything that is Misfire? Does he cease to exist?]

MF: [No! I haven’t ceased to exist! I’m right—]

CC: [left]

SP: [Is Misfire his own arm?]

Ni: [QUIET. ALL OF YOU. STOP THINKING SO LOUD.]

SP: [Is he usually?]

KR: [Oh, for—]

They stood up.

They promptly fell over, arms windmilling, and crashed to the deck, setting off an avalanche in the huge pile of new salvage. Something onyx black and pointy skittered across the floor, out from under them. Their rotors—no, they didn’t have rotors.

SP: [At least not on our back.]

But also—

KR: [Nickel. Are you—]

Ni: [This is not going to work.]

—One of their legs was much, _much_ shorter than the other.

MF: [ha, ha! Nickel’s a leg!]

KR: [Not helpful, Misfire.]

FU: [Krok, how are you even part of this? You don’t have a transformation cog.]

MF: [if I’m left hand, and Nickel and Spinister are legs—]

SP: [I’m a rotary. _With legs._ ]

MF: [look at the right hand look at the right hand lookattherighthand—]

Their right hand was Crankcase Blue (TM). The wheels of whatever his altmode was were tucked in—

CC: [how long have we been on a team together, and you still don’t know my altmode?]

—and the guns on his back were lined up along their forearm, just like a seeker’s built-in—

Ni: [NO.]

FU: [NO!]

KR: [NO]

CC: [NO]

SP: [YELLING!]

…the cannons powered down. Looking down, their torso was K-Class orange, so that meant—

Ni: […]

MF: […]

FU: [Krok. Are you. Are you sitting on top of the gestalt in root mode where a head should be?]

KR: [I don’t think that’s important right now.]

MF: [oh I _sincerely_ disagree]

CC: [seconded]

KR: [Let’s all just. Focus on how to get out of this.]

Ni: [Why are we stuck together in the first place? What happened?]

FU: [The last thing I remember is… picking up a distress signal?]

SP: [We could ask Grimlock.]

KR: [What? Where’s—Oh. How long has he been there?]

The last member of their crew was leaning against the door to the cargo hold. He loudly slurped the dregs of a can of Energuice through a curly straw, visor inscrutable.

“I told you not to touch that,” Grimlock said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to make this into a longer thing, but who knows when or if that'll happen, and I thought this bit stood by itself... reasonably well, so for now it's here!

**Author's Note:**

> I'm decepticon-propaganda on tumblr, come say hi!


End file.
